Forty Days of Snape
by Shiroiyuki3
Summary: Done for the 178 moods challenge on HPFC forums. Snape and his various moods. Possible Snape/OC pairing later on! Please review.
1. Aggravation

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Done for the HPFC forum's 178 Moods Challenge (made by sick-atxxheart). Decided to write about Snape and forty interesting moods.

Enjoy, and please be kind and review.

**Forty Days of Snape**

Chapter 1: Aggravation

Sitting alone in the corner of his dreary office, head bowed beneath a fading green lamp, Severus Snape stabbed the final length of Neville Longbottom's verbose (and hardly comprehensible) essay _Fungal Plants and their Ten Mostly Useful Uses in Potion Brewing _with an angry quill. If at all possible the boy had gotten worse at writing since his First Year. _Three_ years ago.

Tonight Snape's ink of choice was red, an oddly appropriate color for the current atmosphere in which Dumbledore himself, in all his grandfatherly bemused glory, would likely feel 'rather put out' and look for an excuse to leave. Perhaps the Potions Professor had stomached the majority of slop fairly well, waiting anxiously to condemn a classroom full of untalented dunderheads, but this essay had taken a toll on Snape. The last three-quarters of Longbottom's scroll were practically _saturated_ in red. The parchment might well have doubled as a liner for slaughtering pigs.

It was a wonder words survived at all. Their faint memory still poked through here and there – if he tipped the paper and squinted a bit, at least.

He gave a long sigh.

What was the use of even correcting this bovine-brained tripe? Merlin knew Longbottom would just skip past it all, dive to the end, see his giant brooding red 'T', and cry into a bowl of oatmeal during tomorrow's breakfast anyway.

Depositing his inky weapon with a disgusted growl, the man leaned further into the thinning leather of his seat and rubbed a throbbing lump on his forehead. Stuck in a job he hated, stuck teaching children he'd sooner drown, stuck spending hours reading essays that just barely passed for mundane.

To say Snape was aggravated would have been a gross understatement, as for several heady moments he stared at his quill thinking of ways to end his suffering. _An eye would be best_, he idly mused, quirking the side of his lip with involuntary delight. Having no eyes meant never having to read another essay by Longbottom...

The mangled clock above him managed an odd assortment of noise that Snape took to mean midnight, and stuttered to silence soon afterward, smoking a bit here and there as parts took leave of their duty. If the man had any decency he would've put the thing out of misery ages ago. As it was, however, he couldn't care less.

At least things couldn't get much worse than this; a small bit of comfort in such desolate times.

Standing up with an air of troubled resignation, Snape finally took pity on his sad lamp and surrendered his office to total darkness. Sleep beckoned after all, he was somewhat on a schedule. Aggravation would have to hold for tomorrow.


	2. A Small Annoyance

**Forty Days of Snape**

Chapter 2: A Small Annoyance

"Blue."

Blue was the first word Snape thought to say upon waking, and took to scrutinizing his decision soon afterward. It truly was an annoying word, and one hardly uttered by someone who preferred black. So why...? The normal grim mindset and the normal grim outlook, sneer, cynical disapproval of his graying underwear, and several rude thoughts, were in fact still there. So what was different?

"Blue." There it was again, that word. Merlin...

Snape felt what could only be described as a spontaneous fit of mild terror. The sensation had passed rather quickly, but nevertheless didn't bode well. Nothing ever did.

He was almost positive the forsaken toothbrush on his sink and its newest shade of brown had nothing to do with it – nor was it related to the unruly man in his mirror, looking far worse off than the gritty toothbrush. He squinted, pressing a hand to his cheek and shifting his skin in odd, inquisitive motions.

Something was definitely off.

Snape had, in fact, experienced a flash of Sudden Inexcusable Insight, or SII, as the Wizarding World had once called it (circa 302 A.D) – a random burst of randomness, but more notably, a stabbing pang of self-awareness and imminent doom.

To know what a SII fells like, you'd first have to slide down your own navel through a straw and then be flogged with cacti. Not very enjoyable, but a rare treat none the less. Very few have experienced SII's as they require a deep niggling apathy towards just about everything, and a strong desire to see children be eaten. Not to mention graying underpants and a mean sneer.

The last known casualty was Edric the Dreadful who, upon experiencing _his_ SII for torturing a small village and eating their sheep au gratin, was last seen on a barrel floating off to sea. He never returned. Severus must have done something horrible for this to have happened. Something more horrible than usual.

It was this Sudden Inexcusable Insight that caused Snape to rip open his vanity cabinet in a wave of gray and pasty white. It was also the reason he heatedly searched for a small blue vial labeled 'Calming Draught' all the while groaning in panic. After all it was only a matter of time before the Insight reared its ugly head to bite.

He uncorked the blue vial and –

"Blue?!" Merlin, it was already happening.

The Sudden Inexcusable Insight was leading to – agh! Complete and Utter Relevance. If he didn't get as far away from the color blue as humanly possible, he'd surely die. Or at least be very very put out.

Blue became the color of his reflection as he cursed and stormed from the bathroom. Blue was the vial sitting forsaken next to his gritty brown toothbrush. Blue was the ignored streak of fire materializing in its hearth, which was rather quite odd as the Floo should have been green. But blue _definitely _were the eyes observing him in amusement over half-moon spectacles, and Snape didn't like one bit of it.

"Ah – good morning Severus."

"Headmaster, I've –" the man wasn't quite sure how to finish whatever sentence he'd meant to say, and stopped dumbly when no direction was found.

As expected, Albus Dumbledore fully anticipated Snape's SII but thought best to hide this fact. "Ah, Severus – I'm glad I caught you at a good time."

The fact Snape was in his underwear, eyes the size of saucers, didn't seem to faze him.

"Before breakfast today please come to my office – we have a new staff member and I'd like very much for you to be there when she arrives."

The man nodded dully, having nothing else better to do. He supposed that was fitting, spending his last remaining days before Insight destroyed him acting like a half-retarded pigmypuff.

In another burst of blue Dumbledore was gone. Blue again, surely that wasn't normal.

Snape felt a bit sick.


	3. A Determined Man

**Forty Days of Snape**

Chapter 3: A Determined Man

Telling Snape not to panic was quite possibly the equivalent of saying "pigs don't fly" to a Russian Swine Aerodynamicist. Each would have warranted a death glare and several hexes strong enough to maim you permanently. It is a well known fact that Swine Aerodynamicists take their jobs very seriously. After all, without them there would be no Pigports or Pigplanes for Wizards to laugh at. Russian Swine Aerodynamicists, especially, would no doubt defend against the giggles.

Snape, on the other hand, was at the moment seriously contemplating his resignation.

For an hour now, Dumbledore's office had proved more uncomfortable than enduring Slughorn's drip about those deplorable pineapple things.

Snape had spent the first ten minutes bathed in a thoroughly uninviting silence, arms folded and grim faced, looking blacker than usual. This was to prove he could beat the blue. Snape thought himself very clever indeed for not even bothering to shave, leaving black stubble in odd mismatched patches about his chin. The more black he wore, the better – reasoned that of a madman.

The last fifty minutes, however, were spent in silent terror, avoiding the very blue eyes of their newest hire-in who also happened to favor the dark color for her wardrobe. Admittedly she ignored him altogether, for at the moment he looked like a half-crazed unshaven Death Eater. But her eyes irritated him nonetheless. They were just so damn...blue. The SII crept back up and Snape suspected it had to do with her. But that actually worked to his benefit. In fact, had he the facial muscles to support such a strenuous endeavor, he would certainly have smiled at the thought. If _she_ was behind his SII, the solution would be simple.

He'd just have to kill her.

Even after their meeting was over, and What's-her-name ventured off into the winding world of Hogwarts staircases, Snape inwardly grinned.

Business was settled; the matter had become a bizarrely laid-back thing. Incidentally, his inner struggle not to cackle scared a few first years in the hall. It made him tingle. Perhaps he'd stop shaving before class from now on.

In the several days thereafter, Snape took to stalking that woman and getting to know her daily routine.

It wasn't even that complex, really. She had taken over History of Magic for Professor Binns – a much needed change Snape had to admit – and shared a similar schedule to himself: One class in the morning, two in the afternoon, before and after lunch respectively, and three before dinner. Curiously though, the woman never attended meals. She preferred to eat alone, grading papers or reading in her study. Snape furtively noted this for later plotting.

It went without saying the woman had family somewhere, friends even...if she was peppy enough to make Severus sick, she was peppy enough to have at least one. What's-her-name might even have a pet that'd starve upon her 'dismissal'. Frankly though, the man didn't care.

Oh, Snape was fully aware this would cripple his moral compass – not that it ever pointed due north anyway. But surely his soul was black enough to let one stab of mischief slip on by. It had been forever since he indulged his own desires, did something nice for himself. A harmless little murder – certainly that should be allowed.

After the third week, Snape was happy to note What's-her-face wasn't even a blip on the radar.

In fact she remained so _unimportant_, the Golden Trio hadn't even heard of her, which spoke volumes considering both Potter and that Weasley boy were in her class Tuesdays and Fridays. Most of the staff still didn't know her first name, or more correctly, didn't care enough to remember. It was only by mere coincidence Snape overheard Dumbledore addressing her by 'Sally'. Sally...something-or-other. Oh, he wouldn't be bothered with knowing her last name. You don't need to know a person's last name if you're only going to kill them.

That tiresome Flitwick even called her 'Diane' during a staff meeting, which if you think about it, is quite possibly the furthest distance from 'Sally' one can get. So it was safe to assume no one would really miss the girl if she, say for example, fell from her seventh floor study during dinner next week, which also happened to coincide with Halloween and all the fun little disgusting activities children liked to do, guaranteeing no one would be around to save her.

Snape had hardly thought about this at all, really.


	4. An Indescribable Feeling

_Alright, after a bit of studying (because I thought something was off but couldn't place it), I discovered that Harry and Ron had History of magic Tuesdays and Fridays, and there was no mention of Hermione taking it at all. I corrected this small error, and shall be concentrating on matching up facts from the fourth book and my story from now on._

_As always, thanks for reading!_

**Forty Days of Snape**

Chapter 4: An Indescribable Feeling

Since his initial meeting with _Doom_, Snape had encountered approximately two hundred forty five additional items of blue. Among them – three shirts mistaken for his by the house elves, five ink pots he didn't remember ever owning in the first place, and one unfortunate (and albeit highly amusing) accident involving Longbottom and a potion gone wrong. For three days the boy was practically a talking blueberry.

None of it boded well for our Dear Professor Snape.

The man felt his SII growing stronger. Random bluebirds would twitter about when he swept the courtyards. The Beauxbatons, due any day now, advertised their big powder blue insignia on every notice board in Hogwarts. One morning Snape had thought of taking up his toothbrush, still molding away on the lavatory sink, but that blue vial scared him practically to death.

Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue!

It didn't help that his intended victim was also a walking reminder of blue. From her deep blue robes to the very blue color of her eyes, that Sally-whatever was the obvious crux to his problems. But what choice did he have but to stalk her? Halloween was only a few days away.

Snape decided to tackle his dilemma from a different angle, although he hardly knew where to start. He needed more information on SII's and their origins, but going to Albus was out of the question. That man was suspicious enough. With all the anxiety over the soon-to-be-débuted Goblet of Fire, he couldn't take a chance on standing out anymore than a big nosed, sour faced man already did.

Luckily the Wizarding World boasted a fairly well-kept room of magical documents, which recorded everything from Circe to Quidditch Itch, a very uncomfortable and hardly talked about problem which plagued many hardcore players. He'd need to get into that room somehow. But being a thoroughly unpleasant man, he really didn't have too many options. Even if he ever had the misfortune of making a friend, they certainly wouldn't work in the Ministry of Magic. Things were looking particularly hopeless.

This was until the Headmaster requested Snape's presence Tuesday morning, four days before Halloween.

"Ah – Severus, I was wondering if you wouldn't take on an errand for me."

Dumbledore seemed to make a point of busing himself, shuffling through papers on his desk and hardly taking notice of the younger man. He peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles anxiously, making a dramatic scene, and finally settled on one particular parchment that Snape couldn't identify. It was all very suspicious.

"Seems there is a document of great importance at the Ministry, and times being what they are, we will not trust such a thing to the Floo Network."

He suddenly looked up with a pleasant smile, forsaking what seconds ago could have been a life or death affair.

"I understand that this is your free period and – Merlin, have I called you at a bad time?"

A dark figure dusted off his robes disdainfully, just recently coming through the hearth. He looked as impassible as ever and across his left cheek was the remains of a potion ruined by the interruption. Dumbledore continued without a response.

"I was wondering if you wouldn't –"

"– be your carrier owl?"

Snape's silky voice couldn't hide its particularly nasty bite today, and he wiped the yellow stain from his face with a scowl.

"_Naturally._ After all, my position has been degraded far too much to ignore this new calling.

"Had I known your intentions beforehand, I might have glued feathers to my arms and practiced landing procedures in the Owlery. Never mind that I am one of the most brilliant potioneers of the twentieth century, if the Champion of Good commands me fetch his precious _document_, who am I to disagree? Certainly no one would find it a tad _odd_ that –"

Dumbledore considered interrupting, but was much too busy fighting a curious mixture of amusement and vague approval. He actually seemed rather pleased at the whole thing.

"– and shall I hold the letter in my mouth, or may I stash it somewhere more _becoming_?"

Snape ended the drawling monologue with a sarcastic lilt, and crossed his arms impatiently. After a moment Dumbledore smiled.

"Very good." The man had managed to melt Snape's entire ramble into a strange form of agreement and nodded appreciatively.

"Take your time," he hastened to add, giving a wink.

Snape regarded the older man carefully, as if seeing him for the first time. If there was something more he wanted to say Dumbledore certainly didn't look it, taking on that ignorant bliss he was famous for. But Snape had a feeling he knew. Everything.

He took leave of the Headmaster in a wave of black and glowered the entire way through Hogwarts.

Once past the gate, however, the smallest beginnings of a smile were immediately squashed and forced into a sneer. This gave him an excuse into the Ministry, despite how pathetic his role would be.

After collecting the required document, an opportunity struck in the shape of a particularly squat Ministry official who was unlucky enough to be walking by. Through the sweetest cajoling such a man could muster, Snape made headway (or rather, the official had his head smacked forcefully into a wall) – awarding him enough time to go through their files in the Room of Records.

However, this got him nowhere.

As it turned out, Sudden Inexcusable Insight ranked just slightly lower than Smog Pogs, a very rare and benign condition that lasted only an hour and left the victim feeling more refreshed than when it started. Its chances of striking were twenty million, six hundred thousand and fifty two to one.

Which was why the file had somehow lost its place in the Room of Records, occupying instead an out-of-use boarded up, unclean, and all around forgotten lavatory on the basement floor, stashed away next to a few rolls of soiled toilet paper and questionable magazines. It was here, after magically invading the dingy unlit space, that Snape found this wonderful box of complete uselessness.

Although all four peculiar cases in history were indeed documented, SII's truly could not be appreciated by those other than the victim. Therefore their category left something to be desired. In fact, under the headline 'Edric the Dreadful' there were only two words.

"Hardly relevant?!"

Snape plopped onto the grimy floor in shock. 'Hardly relevant' was hardly going to get him anywhere. After a moment of silent cursing, he pulled out the next page. It was worse off than the first.

"Depressing?"

Another page.

"Unremarkable?"

The last page was gripped tightly in his hand, all hope of recovery slipping like slime off the cubicle wall. Snape took a breath and read the caption beneath Beverly Burbank's name.

"Dull? _Dull?!_ How is _this_ going to help me?"

Somehow he knew Dumbledore had planned this all along and sneered just thinking about that ridiculous man and his ridiculous wink. He made sure to rub the requested document along all the lavatory's nasty, sticky places before leaving.


End file.
